


Unraveled

by Reaping



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Happily Ever After, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Other, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura (implied) - Freeform, Slow Burn, Spark!Stiles, beta!derek, did I mention slow burn, kind of, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: Of late, he’d grown increasingly cautious of the entire Argent household, a strange itch forming under his skin whenever he ran across them.Mieczyslaw would swear later there was the sound of shattering glass before memories began to flood in. He felt his chest heave with panic, eyes dripping tears as his knees began to buckle before Deaton caught him, helping him remain upright until the strength returned to his legs.Deaton turned toward him again, face set in determination.“Stiles, run.”And so he did.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaistrex (weishen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/gifts).



> This is my entry for the [Sterek ReverseBang](http://sterekreversebang.tumblr.com).
> 
> See the art [here](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com/post/162149331232/unraveled)!
> 
> The art that inspired this fic was done by the amazing [Kaistrex](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com/) \- definitely go check out their tumblr!
> 
> Also a huge thank you to my beta reader, Mels, who not only made sure everything was in the correct tense, but offered encouragement and cheers the entire way through. I wouldn't have finished it without her. And another special thanks to [Michal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabominablesnowman) and [Jen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren) who were there with me every step of the way, offering encouragement and faith that I would finish on time and listening to me whine when my muse didn't want to cooperate.

_Mieczyslaw was excited for the upcoming festivities. In less than twelve hours, he’d reach official adulthood. The celebration preparation had taken the better part of the last month and he was more than ready to see the fruits of the castle staff’s labor. He was also looking forward to finally spending time with his father again; he hadn’t seen much the man, King John having been too busy, sequestered away with his advisors to prepare for the arrival of royals from neighboring kingdoms. It had been a rough year, treaties coming to an end, trade agreements needing renegotiating, and Mieczyslaw knew better than to demand his father’s attention in the face of all of that. Every time he tried, he was rebuffed by Chancellor Argent anyhow, so he’d finally given up, his resentment for the Argent house growing. Mieczyslaw knew that they’d been of great help with his father’s grief after the Queen passed; and, to an extent, his own grief – although that was more thanks to the Chancellor’s granddaughter than to anyone else in the family (though the girl’s aunt had tried to ingratiate herself to him, he’d always been inexplicably wary of the woman). Of late, he’d grown increasingly cautious of the entire Argent household, a strange itch forming under his skin whenever he ran across them. It had started almost exactly one month before his birthday, he’d begun to distrust them and he wasn’t sure why it had started so suddenly. They’d been a part of his life for nearly seven years at that point, arriving just before his mother had taken ill. They had never done so much as step out of line in front of him, and yet that feeling of unease has only kept growing. Eventually he gave in, deciding to go see the kingdom’s most trusted advisor. He didn’t want whatever this was to keep him from enjoying tomorrow’s celebration._

_“Emissary Deaton, do you have a moment?” It was always strange being in the man’s workshop – it gave off an air of darkness and mystery, though it was nearly as bright as the gardens just outside of its windows. Mieczyslaw had long ago stopped trying to puzzle it out, assuming that the room took on the qualities of its master._

_“Hmmm?” Mieczyslaw saw the swish of dark green robes as the man he’d been seeking stepped out of a shadowy corner, the dark skin of his shaved head catching the flickers of candlelight and giving the impression that he was framed by a corona. “Your Royal Highness, how may I be of service today?” The words were accompanied by a slight tilt of Deaton’s head, a small smile edging his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. Mieczyslaw let out a slightly annoyed huff at the formal introduction – he’d known the man his whole life, repeatedly asked him to call him something far less formal, but to the best of his recollection, in all his years the emissary had never once complied._

_“Deaton, I’ve been having a bit of trouble lately. I’m not – I don’t really know how to explain it, but I keep having this feeling that something is off.”_

_“How so?” Despite the response, Mieczyslaw got the impression that Deaton was only really half listening, not overly concerned with the prince’s problems._

_“It’s this feeling I’ve had for the last few weeks, it seems as if something is…well, wrong. I can’t really explain it. It’s almost as if…you know how it is when you think you’ve seen something from the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look it’s gone? It’s like that, only I don’t think I’ve been missing something so much as I’ve got this itch under my skin. It only happens when I’m near the Argents –” the name had barely left his lips before Deaton’s head was snapping up, dark brown eyes wide, mouth forming an ‘o’ of shock. Before Mieczyslaw could utter another word, the man was shaking his head, hand sweeping before his throat to warn the prince against speaking as he pushed past him towards the large stone door that led back into the hall. Mieczyslaw spun to watch as Deaton slid the heavy bolts across it, locking them in, before placing his right palm flat against the stone and murmuring words too quietly for the prince to hear. He could only gape as Deaton shuffled quickly around the room, doing the same to the windows and the much smaller wooden door that led directly into the courtyard gardens. Only when he had finished that did he turn back and face the prince._

_“Stiles, you aren’t missing anything. You’re starting to remember. I didn’t think it was possible. All of my research, I never – I thought it was a lost cause. Have you told anyone?” Deaton took several long steps forward, arms grasping Mieczyslaw, who was frozen in shock, the name Deaton calling him reverberating through his skull, intensifying the sensation of wrongness. He came back to the moment when Deaton used his grip to shake him a little. “Have you?”_

_“What? No, no of course not. I couldn’t explain it – I still can’t. I came to you first.” The hands on his arms loosened and dropped away as Deaton stepped back, a relieved breath escaping him._

_“Good. Good, there’s time then.”_

_“Time for what? Deaton I don’t understand, what is happening? What am I remembering?”_

_“Stiles – the Argents are not your friends. You have to get out of here. You have to gather your things and go now, before they realize you’re remembering.”_

_“I’m not going anywhere – what are you talking about? I’m sure if we just tell my father whatever your suspicions are –”_

_“NO! Gods no, Stiles you can’t. You’ll end up like the Hales, or worse, like your mother.” Deaton’s voice had taken on a frantic edge as he moved around the room gathering various items and small books into a rucksack he’d pulled from a cabinet. His words made Mieczyslaw’s heart pound in his chest, the repetition of that name sending echoes through his veins again. He recognized it, but he didn’t understand why, it wasn’t something he’d ever heard, at least, not something he’d ever remembered hearing. It was distracting enough that it took his brain a few moments to process what Deaton had said._

_“Wait – just, wait a minute. Who are the Hales? And what do you mean like my mother?” His voice cracked on the last word, the grief still raw after six years. He watched as Deaton glanced around the room before nodding to himself in satisfaction, turning and holding the rucksack out for Mieczyslaw to take. His hand moved of its own accord, grabbing the bag and swinging it onto his shoulder, even as he shook his head in disbelief, expecting answers to his questions._

_“_ Stiles _,” and suddenly there was a hand against his chest, pressing into the muscle above his heart, Deaton’s voice deeper in timbre, a sensation of command flowing through it. Mieczyslaw would swear later there was the sound of shattering glass before memories began to flood in. He felt his chest heave with panic, eyes dripping tears as his knees began to buckle before Deaton caught him, helping him remain upright until the strength returned to his legs._

_“My mother – oh god, they killed her. They killed her…” his voice was raw, the painful memories trying to push back to the forefront of his mind after being locked away for so long. “I’ll kill them all.” There was steel in his tone, even as his eyes continued to flood, and the jars on the shelves started rattling suddenly. Mieczyslaw barely paid them any notice, his jaw clenching as he started to turn back towards the door, but Deaton laid a hand on his shoulder, glancing at the jars as the rattling momentarily increased shaking his head._

_“No Stiles, you can’t. Not yet. You need to find some allies, find the Hales. I think –” Deaton cut off suddenly, head snapping sideways to a suddenly flickering candle, watching as it danced in an unfelt breeze before the flame suddenly shot up nearly a foot in the air, now burning solid silver. It was enough to startle Mieczyslaw, and the jars stilled once again. Deaton turned his head back to Mieczyslaw, eyes once again wide before shuffling over to a bookcase, moving things around until there was a click and it swung wide, revealing a staircase that the prince had never realized was there._

_“They’re coming. Stiles you have to go. I’ll buy you whatever time I can.”_

_“But what am I supposed to do?” Deaton was manhandling him towards the first steps, gaze darting back and forth between the prince and the main door._

_“Enough, there’s no time. Get to the Kingdom of Yukimura, someone there will help you. Don’t stop until you’ve crossed our borders.”_

_“But –” he was cut off by a sudden pounding against the main door, a guard calling out for Deaton to ‘open up immediately, by order of the king’. It made his heart clench, knowing he was supposed to leave his father behind, somehow bespelled. Deaton turned toward him again, face set in determination._

_“Stiles, run.”_

_And so he did._


	2. The Flight

Stiles felt like he’d been running for days, probably because he had. There were countless tiny scrapes littering his face and arms, his legs were shaky, barely supporting his weight. There’d been almost no rest since he’d fled the castle, and even less since he lost his horse. The animal had somehow slipped its tether the first day he attempted to rest, leaving him to cover only whatever distance his legs could manage each night. His body was on the verge of giving in when he finally spied a lighter patch of darkness ahead. He took a deep breath, legs trembling with the need to collapse, and slowed his pace into a sedate walk. As he drew closer, he began to note the edges of a dwelling…a stone cabin by the looks. Firelight flickered behind gauzy curtains, and he ached with the desire to go inside and rest. He couldn’t do that yet though. He estimated he was probably out of the kingdom, or at least nearing the very edge – but probably wasn’t good enough. He took a few more rough steps before leaning against a tree, several paces shy of the clearing around the cabin.

Swallowing against his fear, Stiles closed his eyes, doing his best to concentrate on the spark inside of him. He didn’t have much practice with it yet, only what he gleaned from the brief moment he’d had to look at books and note he’d found packed away in the rucksack that Deaton had given him when he ran. Stiles angled his wrist behind his back and gathered the tiny vestiges of his magic, weak though they were, pulling and pushing and wishing them into a ball that he could hold in his hand. It wasn’t much, a small orb of power that he could feel pulsing and flickering. Satisfied that he had some small measure of defense, should the inhabitant be an enemy, he began to move forward, emerging slowly from the shadows of the surrounding forest. He thought he saw a curtain twitch, though he knew he was barely making any noise. His gaze darted around as he stepped from the safety of the trees, scanning for hidden dangers and traps, wary after so many days on the run.

He’d been lucky so far, his flight mostly unfettered. The closest call was days back, when he’d run across a hunting trail. Stiles had barely heard the bay of the dogs in time, diving for the nearby creek and losing his footing as he slipped and slid his way back downstream before dragging himself out on the opposite bank. He had let his guard down, and paid for it with a bruised ass and a chill that seeped into his bones, slowing his progress considerably. The bag had remained mostly dry, pretty much by accident, but he had fled too quickly to have a change of warm and dry clothes packed away in it.

The memory has Stiles unconsciously feeling the edges of the rucksack with his free hand, body suppressing a shiver. Even now, his stockings feel damp inside his boots – also still damp, and damned if he isn’t worried about that going against him soon too. All the more reason to stop hesitating and give the cabin a try. He steels his resolve and squares his shoulders, striding towards the door with more confidence than he really feels, hoping the bravado will hide the way his body is wracked with tremors from the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. He lets the hood drop from the cloak drop away from his head, hearing the quiet swish of it as he moves, dark patches showing where the heavy fabric is still damp, despite his best efforts to dry at least that out. Stiles raises a hand to knock but the door is wrenched open before his fist can make contact, and he does his best not to lose his concentration on the magic ball behind his back. His mouth is already set in a frown as his gaze travels up and across broad shoulders and a stubbled jaw, catching on jeweled eyes framed by thick brows drawn down into a scowl. Stiles can feel his jaw drop as he registers the face in front of him, mouth opening to say…he’s not even sure what. It doesn’t matter, before he can speak his body finally gives out, vision swallowed by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Art by the amazing [Kaistrex](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com/)


	3. Unexpected Guest

Derek heard the approach from a mile away, someone crashing through the forest, his forest, in hurry. It made his hackles rise when he heard them shift direction, making a beeline straight for the cabin. He silently cursed himself for keeping so many of the candles burning tonight; they must have seen the light, even through the curtains. Normally Derek was more cautious. Although it didn’t matter at this point as he could hear the rustle of leaves and grass, the gentle crunch of twigs snapping under a boot. Derek was surprised, however, when the traveler stopped a good ten feet back into the trees. It made him far more wary than he’d have been if they’d just come right to the door. He moved closer to the window, angling his body so that his shadow wasn’t cast across it, and turning his head so that his ear was better positioned to pick up the quiet sounds the stranger was making. 

He concentrates until he can hear the ragged intake and release of the intruder’s breath, the pounding thud of their heartbeat. His claws slide out quietly, teeth sharpening ever so slightly before he reins it in and moves to the door, body tensing while he waits to see what they’ll do. It isn’t long before he hears the rustling of fabric as the stranger moves towards the cabin, their heartbeat impossibly quickening. Deciding to press his advantage, Derek grabs a candle from a nearby table, retracting the claws on the hand holding it as he swings the door open, quickly dropping his still-clawed right hand behind his back. The fist the stranger had been raising to knock drops swiftly away, and despite his enhanced vision, it takes a moment yet for his eyes to adjust. It might have been better to leave the candle behind him, but it’s too late for that. As his vision clears, he notices a faint green glow coming from the back of the stranger, the metallic scent of magic tinging the air, and Derek feels his face draw down into a scowl.

Derek’s gaze travels upwards, teeth once again lengthening as he prepares to defend himself against the intruder, when he finally sees just who it is. The air whooshes out of him as if he’d been punched in the gut because he recognizes the man before him. The face is nearly as familiar as his own. Derek thought he’d never see the boy – no, man now if he remembers right – again, so he’s momentarily shocked speechless. He’s barely recovering, a nearly breathless “Stiles?” leaving his mouth just as the he sees the amber eyes in front of him roll back in the man’s head.

Derek has only a second to drop the candle and retract the claws of his other hand, noting with relief that the green light has disappeared as he catches the man in front of him. He sweeps Stiles into his arms, glancing down and kicking a bit of dirt at the candle’s flame, making sure it’s fully extinguished before he slips back through the doorway, closing it with a foot and moving to place Stiles on his bed. The cabin is small, not meant for visitors, and it’s the only spot Derek can place him. He makes quick work of Stiles boots and clothing, taking as much care as he can as he strips Stiles to his small clothes before bundling him into the heavy blankets. That done, he returns and bolts the door, calming his own breathing and heart to listen and be sure there’s nobody else close before dragging his lone chair next to the bed to wait, drifting off sometime in the night when the remaining candles had burned low.

****

Derek awakes to find that Stiles is still sleeping, and he’s relieved to hear the man’s breathing and heartbeat have steadied through the night. Derek spends a few minutes watching him sleep, amazed at how little the years have changed Stiles. A little less baby fat on Stiles’ face, more definition in his cheekbones, the faintest outlines of stubble, but still the same wide eyes and smattering of moles. Derek quietly eases out of the chair and moves towards his small hearth, inspecting his dwindling stores to see what they might eat for the day. He had planned to hunt, but he can’t leave Stiles here alone – not least of all because Derek isn’t sure what Stiles is even here for. Derek hasn’t seen him since the day the Hale family made their escape from the castle.

He’s just managed to fry up a couple rashers of bacon and scrounge up the last bits of his fruit and bread when he hears the subtle shifts that let him know Stiles is finally waking. There’s an uptick to Stiles’ heartbeat, a new hitch in his breath, and Derek is turning just as Stiles bolts upright in the bed, heart suddenly thundering as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. Derek watches as the boy – man, his mind corrects, though it’s hard to reconcile that again when Stiles looks so terrified – scrambles up against the wooden headboard, back crashing into it loudly and rattling the windows in the cabin as his amber eyes dart around, clearly seeking an escape. Derek sets the plates of food on a small table and lifts his hands, palms out in a placating gesture.

“Stiles, calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” He watches as Stiles’ head whips towards him again, eyes widening and mouth dropping open slightly before he brings his own hands up. For a moment Derek thinks it’s just to warn him back, and he’s about to take a step further away, if only to help ease Stiles’ mind, when he catches the scent of metal on the air and realizes what is actually happening. He barely has time to dive to the side, upending the table the food was on as he goes, narrowly avoiding the flash of light that sinks into the wall behind him, leaving the smell of char on the air. “STILES WHAT THE HELL?”

“How do you know who I am?” There’s the barest moment, Derek can’t even take a breath to reply, before Stiles is talking over him again. “Answer me, damn you! Are you one of them? Where am I? What’s happened? Whose bed is this? ANSWER ME!”

“If you’d just shut up, I’m trying to.” There’s a bit of a snarl to the words that Derek can’t quite hold back. He’d forgotten how much Stiles could talk if nobody reined him in. It was no less infuriating now than it had been all those years ago. Derek did his level best to glare, although he was pretty sure there were bits of orange in his hair from the overturned food that had landed all over him, honestly it was a good thing he was a werewolf, or he’d likely have burns from the bacon grease currently coating his forearm. When it was clear Stiles was finally going to give him a moment to actually answer, he shifted until he was sitting upright on the floor, making sure to face Stiles and keep his hands in easy view. He definitely didn’t want a repeat performance. “I know you from the castle,” and at that Stiles gasps in a breath, mouth opening again but Derek speaks quickly to cut him off, “my family worked there for years until the Argents came.” There’s a sneer on the name, and Derek can see a slight bit of the tension leave Stiles’ shoulders, giving him a few questions of his own to ask. “You really don’t know me?” At the shake of Stiles’ head, he continues, a little calmer himself now. “I don’t know if I’m part of the ‘them’ you’re asking about, since you didn’t specify. You’re in my cabin, in my bed. I have no idea what’s happened, you passed out before I could ask. I’m all ears if you want to tell me what the hell had you charging through my forest in the middle of the night.” He ends with an arched eyebrow, made significantly less intimidating by the piece of bacon that slides out of his hair and plops into his lap. It’s absurd enough that it startles a laugh out of Stiles. Derek is strangely pleased to watch the shake of Stiles’ shoulders, hear that the rapidity is gone from his pulse, his breathing slower, more even. It makes his own lips twitch in reply, though he does his best to wipe the smile away as Stiles’ gaze travels back to him.

“I’m…I can tell you what I know. About why I was running.”

“What you know?”

“I don’t – I’m still trying to get the rest of my memory back. Deaton, he tried to help, but I had to flee before he could explain it all.” Derek can feel his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Just as Stiles is about to start talking, he hears the man’s stomach rumble. “Uh…there um…is there any food that hasn’t ended up on the floor – which, by the way, let me apologize for, because clearly I was under the impression I was being attacked, and now it’s obvious I wasn’t, because what attackers peel oranges for you right? But also, I don’t think I’ve eaten in a few days and I just –”

“Nope.” Derek says it loud enough to stop the cascade of words tumbling from Stiles’ mouth. “That was it. So, if you want to eat, you’re going to need to tell me what you do know, because I’m not going to leave you here until I have some answers.”

“But –”

“No buts. Talk. Now.” And it’s enough motivation, so Stiles does.


	4. Forgotten Past

Stiles talks for hours. He tells Derek everything he’s remembered so far. The day the Argents came to the castle, at the time just one of a number of noble houses coming for some festival or another. There’s a fuzziness that taints his memories, a strangeness that he now knows is from whatever spell the Argents had cast. He doesn’t remember the changing of the guards, how suddenly the ones he’d known his entire life were gone, replaced by knights loyal to Gerard, has no idea when the man was named Chancellor. Bits and pieces are coming back, but they’re returning so slowly. The initial flood only solidified the sense of wrongness he’d been feeling leading up to his coming of age. Snatches of conversation between Gerard and Countess Katherine. A hand tipping into his mother’s goblet at every meal, purple stones plunking in, unnoticed by anyone. He knew what it meant, when those memories returned in the first burst. They’d poisoned Claudia. She’d spent a year wasting away, Deaton trying to stop it, aided by their healer, Lady Melissa.

He stumbles when talking about her, new memories rising to the surface. A boy with dark eyes and floppy hair. Stiles is momentarily overwhelmed as he remembers his oldest friend, the son of a disgraced nobleman. Stiles’ father had taken in Melissa and Scott – that was his name – after the Lord of the McCall household had been arrested following a drunken brawl in a tavern that led to the death of a farmer. Some of the court had scoffed at their friendship, told the king how improper it was, but Stiles’ father had only to see how much light the friendship had brought into his son’s life – far more joy than he’d been given from his ‘proper’ companions, and he silenced the complaints. He had been a good man, before the Argents got to him. And now Stiles’ mind has shifted, wondering what happened to Scott, he disappears from the memories like smoke in the wind. 

“I don’t – I’m still piecing it together, but if he was there, surely I’d remember him?” There’s a pleading note in Stiles’ voice, he can hear it, but can’t stop it even so. Derek’s expression is soft, a small shake of his head.

“Finish telling me what you remember, then I’ll tell you what I know.”

Stiles doesn’t want to let it go, but it’s not the most important thing right now, so he sighs and continues. Tells Derek about his mother’s last days, how she’d seemed to fall into madness at the end, ranting about sneaks and spies, murderers and magicians, and wolves. So much about wolves. Stiles can hear the catch in Derek’s breath when he brings that up, decides to push at the memories in that direction, drag back anything he can from the jumbled mess that the dissolution of the spell has caused. 

“She’d drag me into her chambers, check and recheck the doors and windows, under the bed, in the cabinets. She was convinced that anything alive might be a spy, but she’d never tell me who it was they were spying for. When she was sure we were alone, she’d drag me to the foot of the bed, crouching down and whispering in my ear that I had to find the wolves because they were supposed to protect us. She’d alternate between that and mumbling to herself about magic and poison. I always thought it was the sickness – I guess, it was, but it was giving her some sort of clarity, taking her out of the spell. Except that part about the wolves, that’s crazy right? I mean, even pushing I can’t remember any wolves roaming the castle. Do you remember them? Actually, how the hell do you remember me? Because I don’t remember you, and I definitely would.”

“Oh?” There’s an arched eyebrow aimed at him, and Stiles can feel his face flush. He didn’t mean it like that, but there isn’t a way he can think of to explain that won’t make it worse, so he just tilts his head and tries to arch his own eyebrow (something he’s never mastered, so both go up and he can feel how silly he must look, but there’s no help for it). Patience isn’t a virtue he’s been blessed with, but he does his best to stay still and wait for Derek to do more than stare at him. He’s thankfully blessed with a short wait. Stiles watches as Derek takes a deep breath, eyes darting away and back before he speaks again.

“We knew who the Argents were when they came. My family is…different. We could feel the magic when it started, and we tried to stop it, but whoever they were using was well hidden. My father tried to stay and fight, but when the spell took hold…” He breaks off, a tension seeping into his body, and Stiles is suddenly sorry for pushing, but he needs answers if he has any hope of fixing anything. He leans forward, sympathy painted across his features. Derek clears his throat and continues after another minute. “My father was the first to fall. We realized the spell was taking over more than the main court, it was affecting the rest of the guard, and the Argents had more people. They’d been milling in the courtyard, posed as revelers. There was a signal and they took the castle. Everyone inside was entranced, and everyone outside – anyone who noticed didn’t last long. We did what we could as we ran, grabbed anyone inside who didn’t seem like they were going under. We ran for days, like you. And then we scattered, it was safer to hide if we weren’t together. The Argents, their guards, they’d remember us, even if no one else did. We couldn’t risk it.”

“So Scott…”

“He’s with my mother. Or he was. I’m not sure, I don’t really…I haven’t seen anyone since the first year. It’s too dangerous. We tried, at first, but the Argents must have found where we were meeting. There was a fire. We barely made it out alive.”

“I don’t understand though – why weren’t you affected? You said you were special, but I don’t understand how, or why.” Derek’s expression faltered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Stiles wondered if the other man would answer, he seemed to be dancing around something, only Stiles wasn’t sure what. Not enough memory, not enough clues. 

“Why did you remember, Stiles? Why did you start to run? Why did the Argents even suspect you?”

“I told you, the memories just started coming back. Deaton said something and –”

“No.” Stiles startled when Derek cut him off. “No, you said something had felt wrong for nearly a month before you saw Deaton. Flashes of things that didn’t make sense, a dislike of the Argents and their ilk after years of unquestioned devotion. What changed Stiles?” And suddenly Stiles understood. Whatever Derek was hesitating for, whatever he was hiding about what he knew – Stiles was just as guilty. He hadn’t told Derek what Deaton had told him, by way of the books and letters he’d tossed in that rucksack. Stiles realized the only way to get Derek to open up was to give him what little truth he’d been holding back.

“I’m a spark. The magic inside me was waking, and somehow it started to unravel the spell.” He met Derek’s gaze unflinchingly, though his heart was hammering away at his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of really, so far Derek had offered him nothing but hospitality and a measure of safety, if only temporary. Stiles knew he couldn’t stay much longer, he’d found a Hale, but he’s fairly certain this wasn’t exactly what Deaton had meant. He needed to find the rest of them. Figure out what immunity they had and how it could help him break the rest of the castle from the spell. Stiles watched as Derek’s eyes darted around the room, mulling something over. He was staring so intently that he noticed the subtle change in posture as Derek made some decision and looked back at him, his multihued eyes stealing a bit of Stiles’ breath when they locked onto his own.

“My family are werewolves. We’re immune to that kind of will-stealing magic.” Stiles couldn’t stop the disbelieving snort. Magic was hard enough to accept and he could wield it. When his eyes caught on Derek again, the other man was less than amused, Derek’s glare seeming to say that if he could cut him to ribbons with only his eyes, then Stiles would already be a pile of parts on the floor.

“I’m sorry, it’s just. It’s so unbelievable. All of it.” Derek shakes his head before tilting it sideways, a predatory spark filling his eyes as he suddenly stands from the chair and stalks towards the bed. Stiles let out a squeak, scrambling backwards, for the first time in quite a while actually feeling a measure of fear. 

“Does it look like I’m lying?” The words come out on a bit of a snarl, because Derek is suddenly sporting some very very real looking fangs. Stiles has only a second of taking it all in, the newly sharpened teeth, the claws growing out of Derek’s fingers, the pointy ears, the odd lack of eyebrows, before his brain decides that enough is enough for one day and he passes back out.


	5. A New Hope

“Well fuck.” Derek hadn't meant to scare Stiles into passing out, but he could at least admit to himself that he'd wanted to scare him a little. He had forgotten over the years just how easily Stiles could get under his skin. Stiles was still a kid when the Hales had left, but that had never stopped him from getting up to all sorts of mischief, and Derek had been the one assigned to keep an eye on him most often, probably because they'd been close enough in age. He hadn't been a full-fledged guard yet, but he'd been close, just shy of two years from his own coming of age when the Argents uprooted his life. There was usually another guard around somewhere, but Stiles and his friends had been mostly Derek’s responsibility.

It didn't matter right this minute though. Derek tucked Stiles in and set about cleaning the mess from their missed breakfast. He really would have to seek out food now, but his choices were limited. Hearing what had happened made it even more dangerous to leave Stiles alone and undefended. He sighed and grabbed his snares, making sure the windows were locked tight.

He couldn't go far, staying within a hundred yards of the cabin, setting new traps and checking over the older ones. Luck wasn't much on his side, only two had caught rabbits. The bushes were nearly picked clean of edible berries as well, but Derek managed to scrounge enough for maybe two small bowls. Two very small bowls. He had planned to head into the nearest village and trade some of the hides he'd tanned from the last of his spring stock, but that would have to wait now. Derek packed away everything he managed to gather and headed back just after midday.

Stiles didn't wake up that day, not even when the smell of roasting rabbit filled the cabin. His breathing and heart remained steady, so Derek let him be, storing Stiles’ portion of the food before grabbing spare blankets and curling up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

****

The morning sun is soft through the gauzy curtains when Derek wakes to find Stiles still hasn't gotten up. He listens intently, but there's no change in the rhythm of Stiles’ heart so he decides not to worry. Derek eats a breakfast of cold berries – not really enough for him, but he’ll make due – before finding a scrap of parchment and leaving a note that he's gone to check the snares and will hopefully return with more food should Stiles awaken. He hadn’t bothered the day before, mostly because he was pretty sure Stiles wasn’t going to get up before he could return, but now Stiles has slept for nearly a full day and night.

Derek's luckier today, the traps holding a pair of quail and three more rabbits, though he cannot find any berries left on the bushes in the range he gives himself. He's gone further than yesterday, but he's afraid to venture beyond where he is now, Stiles’ steady heartbeat barely there, almost non-existent when he moves, despite how quiet Derek's steps are. He returns to find the cabin untouched and breathes a silent sigh of relief before moving around the back and surveying his pitiful garden.

He had planted late, the frost sticking in the ground more deeply here in the forest than it would in the valley. Despite that, he thought the onions and carrots showed some promise, and he set about digging up the ones that seemed closest to ripe. They were small, but he managed to root enough of them out to make a decent stew. He wasn't sure when Stiles had eaten last, but he was certain that adding on these last two days without a meal would weaken his stomach, and stew was safer than a full meal of mostly meat. Derek set the vegetables aside in a basket before taking care of the rabbits and quail. 

The cabin was quiet when he went back in, opening the windows to counter the heat of the fire he needed to build. He filled a kettle with water and set about dropping chunks of rabbit and vegetables into it before covering it and letting it simmer. The rest of the rabbit and both quails went onto spits that he set in the fire, the juices filling his nostrils with the pleasant smell of cooking meat. When they finished cooking, he set them aside and stretched back out on the floor next to the bed, worn from the busy morning and lulled into an easy slumber by the familiar heartbeat. 

****

Derek startles awake, the cabin dark save for the low flame remaining from his earlier cooking. It takes him a moment to realize what woke him. His head cocks sideways, listening to the rabbit-fast beat of Stiles’ heart, a clear indicator the other man is awake now. He can hear the whisper of fabric sliding together as Stiles eases himself out of the bed, eyesight likely much dimmer than Derek’s own. He stays still, waiting to see what Stiles plans to do, watches through squinted eyes as Stiles moves carefully in the darkened room, muffling a curse when he stubs his foot against the chair that Derek hadn’t removed the other day. Derek can see clearly when Stiles darts his gaze around as he moves towards the soup kettle still hanging above the fire, hand reaching out to grab the ladle set off to the side before dipping it into the kettle and bringing the broth to his lips.

“You might want to get a bowl.” It’s probably not fair, but Derek smirks and holds back a chuckle when Stiles yelps in surprise. Really, it isn’t fair, there’s no probably about it, but it’s been a long and confusing few days – he’ll take his entertainment where he can get it. 

“I – I didn’t know you were awake. I’m sorry, I just, I’m hungry and I know it’s your food and I should’ve asked but I’m just so hungry and –” Derek sits up then, waving his hand to stop Stiles’ rambling.

“It’s fine, I made it for you. Well, not just for you. Here,” he moves forward slowly, trying not to startle Stiles again, noting how very quick the man’s heart is still hammering from the first time. He’s actually kind of surprised Stiles didn’t try to bolt for the door. Not as surprised as he’d have been if Stiles had eaten recently though – because running took a lot of energy, Derek knew that one firsthand. He shakes off the dark feelings those thoughts are conjuring and grabs two mostly intact bowls and two soup-sized spoons, taking the ladle from Stiles and dishing out portions for each of them. He tries to make sure Stiles has more vegetables in his.

“Thank you.” It’s so quiet it’s almost a whisper and Derek can only nod his head in response, taking his bowl to the small table and setting it down before lighting a match and igniting a few new candles, chasing back a bit of the gloom. They set about eating; the only noises the sounds of chewing and spoons scraping the bottoms of the bowls. Before hardly any time has passed, Stiles has finished and is ladling another helping for himself. He resumes eating with just as much speed as the first serving and Derek clears his throat.

“Slower – I don’t know how many days it’s been since you had a proper meal, but if you eat that too fast, it’s not going to stick.” Stiles snorts in response but Derek smiles when he sees that Stiles listened and has slowed. Derek finishes his own portion before sitting back to watch. He can feel the rumble inside, knows he could easily enjoy another serving himself, but he refrains.

“So…werewolves.” Stiles is nearly finished with his second helping before he tries to broach the subject.

“Yes. Werewolves.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. And then sorry I passed out when you showed me. In my defense, I think that’s what you were aiming for though.” There’s a bit of a glare with the words and Derek ducks his head a little in shame.

“I – no, I’m sorry. I needed you to believe me, but I didn’t have to do it that way.”

“You’re right, you were a dick, but if I remember right, that’s nothing new.” It’s so matter of fact that it startles Derek a little. When he looks up to meet Stiles’ eyes, he realizes the other man is smirking a little.

“You remember?”

“Well, I slept for like, a day and a half. Even I don’t need that much beauty rest.” Derek snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. This Stiles sounds a hell of a lot more like the Stiles that Derek remembered. “But to answer your question, yeah. I remember. I remember everything. I still have questions – like, how the hell did the Argents ensorcelle everyone? And also how did they make us forget about werewolves, because I swear that is not a thing that anyone at the castle remembers.”

“I don’t know. We couldn’t figure it out, not that there was much time to look into it. By the time we thought we could stop running, it was too late to look for information. We were too far out.”

“Yeah, about that. I was trying to get out of the kingdom. I know I ran for a long while, but I got turned around so many times I have no idea where I am. I’m honestly kind of amazed that I ran into you at all.” Derek nods because he’s not really sure what to say to that stroke of good luck. When he continues to nod and not reply, Stiles sighs and speaks again. “Soooo, where are we?”

“Oh, right. Wicker Forest. We’re on the border between your kingdom and the Yukimura kingdom. Kind of in a no-man’s-land between them.”

“Oh thank the gods.” Derek watches as Stiles’ body slumps with relief and can’t help but give him a puzzled glance. It takes Stiles a few moments to notice. “I’m closer than I thought I’d be. I was supposed to head to Queen Noshiko; Deaton thought she’d know where your family was. And I found you, but I didn’t find everyone so I still need to get to her.” Before Derek can even think of what to say to that, Stiles is up and moving, swaying a bit as he tries to gather up his meager possessions, hopping from foot to foot while he drags on his pants and looks around for his overshirt. Stiles tries to drop one foot into a boot and reach for the shirt (which was hanging off the post at the head of the bed) and misjudges the distance, or his coordination, Derek isn’t quite sure which, and starts to fall, head angled just right to crack against the small table next to the bed. Derek barely gets to him in time, hand darting between Stiles’ face and the tabletop. He can feel some of the small bones in his hand crack briefly before his healing kicks in and they knit back together, but it seems it was close enough to startle Stiles out of his rush. He straightens, with some assistance, and Derek watches him take a deep breath as he sits more carefully on the edge of the bed so that he can put on his boots properly.

“Thanks.” It’s a quiet mumble, and Derek thinks there’s a hint of embarrassment in it, especially combined with the light dusting of pink rising up in Stiles’ cheeks.

“No problem.”

“So, I’ll just, finish. And then be out of your hair. I appreciate you saving my skin. I don’t think I’d have lasted another night in the forest. So thanks.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Stiles glances up sharply and Derek just stares back. “Why?”

“You came looking for the Hales, I’m a Hale. Also, you said they were chasing you, so it would be pretty irresponsible of me to let you go off alone. Especially since you have no idea where you actually are.” He leaves out that he too wants to know if Noshiko can find the rest of his family. Also, he’d like to try and have a life again, if there was a way to stop the Argents, maybe he could finally leave the forest.

“Oh right. Yeah, that would – that would be really helpful. Okay. So, um, we should probably go. Now.”

“No.”

“What? But you just said –”

“It’s late, nearly the middle of the night, I’m not interested in stumbling around with you in the forest when you can’t see what you’re doing. You’re enough of a danger to yourself as it is.”

“Ha ha, funny. I’m not a danger to myself.” Derek merely arches an eyebrow, gaze darting from Stiles to the table he’d nearly brained himself on just a few short minutes ago. He barely suppresses the smirk when he hears Stiles sigh in response. “Fine, point taken. Tomorrow then.” Derek nods and sets about packing up the remainder of their dinner, wrapping up the roasted meats in some cloth. He gathers the waterskins and a heavy blanket, packs them all in his largest rucksack and sets it near the door. He quickly banks the fire, but leaves the candles burning as he sets about readying the cabin for his absence. Once all the windows are tightly locked he turns towards his makeshift bed, stopping short when he realizes Stiles is standing at the foot of the bed, shifting from foot to foot as one hand rubs the back of his neck.

“Stiles?”

“Uh…I know I woke up in the bed, but I wasn’t sure…I mean, I’m okay now, or better at least, so I can uh…” Derek watches as Stiles gestures towards blankets piled on the floor, torso twisting that direction.

“It’s fine, take the bed. Another night on the floor won’t bother me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose. Or, not any more than I already have.”

“I already said it was fine.”

“I know, it’s just. I just. It’s okay if you want your bed back, I mean. I can sleep on the floor or…”

“Or?” Derek can feel his eyebrow rise, waiting for Stiles to finish the thought.

“Or…it’s big enough, we can probably both –”

“No!” It comes out far more harshly than Derek means. He realizes it when Stiles flinches back as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, but no. It’s not right. You’re a prince, there are protocols. I’ll be fine on the floor.” He can see Stiles clench his jaw as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but there’s no help for it. Derek’s just glad Stiles doesn’t have his sense of hearing.

“Now you’re worried about protocols? You didn’t seem too worried when you were trying to give me a heart attack with the whole…grr….thing.” Derek has the grace to dip his head, knows that he doesn’t really have a suitable explanation for it, but tries anyhow.

“That was different. This. This wouldn’t be right, or proper. If anyone found out, when you get back, it could disgrace you. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“If anyone found out?! Derek, we’re in the middle of nowhere, we’re the only two people here, it’s not like I’m asking you to bed me.” Derek tenses at the phrase, but thankfully Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just continues with his rant, although it seems more like he’s mumbling to himself as he begins to disrobe again, back to Derek. “Honestly, if anyone finds out. Who’d tell anyone? There’s no one to see, no one to tell. I did not miss this part of having guards one single bit.” He tapers off as he clambers onto the bed, dragging the heavy covers over himself and burrowing down. The night has turned chill, despite it being summer, and Derek thinks about adding one of his own blankets to the pile on the bed before quickly rethinking it – Stiles was angry enough as it was, no need to give him any further reasons. He shakes his head before swiftly blowing out the candles and bedding down for the night. They’d need to make an early start, he didn’t lie when he told Stiles they were at the borders, but the Yukimura palace was still 2 days ride from the cabin, and they didn’t have horses.


	6. Into the Woods

The first day of the journey goes rather smoothly, almost suspiciously so. Stiles isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he’d spent so much time running that he couldn’t trust the ease with which they made their way through the forest. Although maybe it was so smooth because he had a werewolf watching his back now. When they made camp for the night, Stiles was a little more tired than he thought he should be, a little sorer than he expected, but not unduly so. He chalked it up to how ragged he’d run himself before he found Derek. There was no fire, Stiles had started to build one before aiming a disgruntled glare in Derek’s direction when the other man kicked at the bundled sticks and sent them scattering.

“What the hell Derek?”

“Stiles, we’re trying to stay unnoticed. A fire is very noticeable in the forest.”

“We haven’t seen or heard anyone all day; I doubt there could be anyone close enough to notice it.”

“You haven’t seen or heard anyone all day.” It was enough to shut Stiles up. There were several times during the first day’s walk that he caught Derek listening intently to some far off sound, but whatever he heard never came close enough for Stiles to puzzle it out. Apparently, what he’d been hearing was other people. Stiles wanted to believe that it was just other travelers, but there really wasn’t anything out this way, as far as he could tell. Derek threw a blanket at Stiles’ head, effectively breaking him out of that line of thought. He harrumphed and set about laying it out, taking care to lie so he could drag the excess back over himself before shoving his pack under his head and closing his eyes. He didn’t expect to fall asleep, but he was out within minutes.

****

The next day finds Stiles waking to an unsettling stiffness in his joints. He does the best he can to stretch it out, gratefully inhaling the berries Derek had picked during their walk the day before. They break camp quickly, with Derek angling Stiles slightly off from the almost non-existent path they’d been following. Stiles has barely begun to open his mouth to ask why when Derek cuts him off.

“There’s a stream running mostly in the direction we’re going, it’ll be better for us if we’re near it.” Stiles nods and follows where he’s led – honestly it’s not like he really has much choice in the matter, not if he wants to actually make it to Queen Noshiko.

They stop at midday to eat the last of the rabbit and quail, now unpleasantly dry, and refill their waterskins. They’re rinsing their hands in the cool water when Derek goes unnaturally still, head turning to face the direction they’d come from. Stiles nods when Derek lifts a hand, palm out towards him, a silent plea to be quiet. He’s afraid to even breathe, not sure of what Derek might be listening to, but certain it’s not anything good, not by how intently he’s staring into the forest behind them. It’s another few minutes before Derek takes a deeper breath, shaking himself and standing the rest of the way. 

“Time to go,” his voice is pitched lowly, and Stiles doesn’t argue, just takes the proffered hand up and grabs his bag, resettling it across his back before nodding at Derek to lead the way. He waits a good fifteen minutes into the resumed walk before quietly asking his questions.

“Was it them? The Argents? Are they close?”

“I’m not – I don’t think it was any of the Argents themselves, but yes, I think they’re working for the Argents. They’re close, but not close enough. Not yet.” Having answers isn’t as reassuring as Stiles hoped it would be, so he says nothing, just drops his head to watch his footing and increases his pace. They take only a few small breaks during the rest of the day, mostly so Derek can scour for edible berries and roots. Stiles is certain that Derek had planned to hunt, but with people on their trail, it’s no longer safe to take the time.

They walk further that night than Stiles thinks Derek had initially planned, only stopping once the darkness had eaten up all of the light. Derek’s eyes glow a faint blue, and Stiles is pretty sure that the werewolf can see still, but Stiles’ human eyesight failed him at least half an hour before, and he’d been reliant on Derek to lead him. The first time Stiles had stumbled, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, settling it on his shoulder and encouraging Stiles to hold tightly so they could keep moving. It was a frustrating thirty odd minutes. Derek, Stiles assumed, could see the roots and rocks, and thus stepped over them, but Stiles could not see them, and the hand on Derek’s shoulder didn’t come with its own enhanced eyes either, so he tripped his way along until Derek grew too irritated to continue. Stiles could feel the tension radiating off of Derek, the desire to keep moving, but it just wasn’t possible. He threw down his pack and folded himself down onto the ground, intent on sleeping exactly where he was.

“Stiles, we can’t just stop wherever you feel like.”

“Well excuse me, some of us are human. Some of us can’t see in the dark and some of us are tired of tripping on every damn thing.” He knows he shouldn’t snap, it’s not Derek’s fault after all, but he can’t really stop himself. 

“Fine.” Stiles hears what he assumes is Derek’s bag hit the ground next to his, which is immediately followed by the bulk of a heavy werewolf dropping down against his side. He grunts in annoyance (and maybe a bit of pain, but he’d be damned if he’d admit to it). He tries to shift away, but Derek’s hand tugs on his arm and holds him in place. There’s rustling and then one of the blankets is flung across them as Derek’s grip eases them both backwards until they’re laying prone, sides pressed flush together.

“Derek what –”

“Quiet. We’ll sleep a few hours until it starts to lighten again.”

“Fine, but –”

“Sleep Stiles.” He wants to keep arguing, but clearly it’s pointless. He wonders again at where the propriety and protocols have gone, but not enough to fight the exhaustion pulling him under.

****

When they wake with the dawn, Derek quickly packs them up and moves them along after only a short time listening to the woods around them. It doesn’t seem like he hears anything particularly alarming, something Stiles thinks is confirmed when he sets them out at a slower pace than they’d kept just yesterday. By midday, however, he’s sweating through his clothing, worn down from the lack of food. He’s ready to protest when Derek abruptly stops.

“What is it?” Suddenly Stiles can feel his heart in his throat, fear giving him a burst of energy as he prepares himself to run, but Derek just shakes his head.

“We need to eat, more than wild roots.” Stiles watches curiously as Derek sets his pack aside and toes off his boots before removing his shirt and sliding his pants off, leaving him in only his small clothes. Stiles flushes and looks away, but turns back when he hears a splash. Derek’s in the stream, eyes intent on the water, hands dipped just below the surface. Stiles is about to ask what he’s doing when it becomes painfully obvious as Derek’s hands break the surface, a large fish caught between them. Water runs in rivulets down Derek’s forearms, and Stiles finds himself entranced by the droplets, gaze roving across the corded muscle. It takes a moment to realize Derek is speaking, trying to get his attention.

“What was that?”

“I said, grab the pot that’s hanging off my bag – I need something to set the fish in so I can catch more.” There’s unmistakable annoyance in Derek’s voice so Stiles hurries to do what was asked. He moves it within range and Derek deftly tosses the fish in before resuming his stance. Since Stiles is absolutely certain he cannot catch fish like that, he settles down next to the pot to observe. It isn’t long before the pot has several large fish and a few smaller ones in it and Derek is climbing back out of the water. Stiles watches are Derek expertly scales the fish, tossing the heads back into the stream. He spears the larger ones on a series of small branches.

“Build a fire, a small one. It’s light enough that the smoke should be hard to see.” Stiles can only nod, a twinge of regret filling him when he has to turn away to gather a small bundle of twigs and branches. When he’s got it lit, Derek brings over the speared fish, using a couple of larger branches to help prop them up and keep them out of the flame, before turning his attention back to the smaller fish. Stiles watches in fascination as Derek lays out strips of cloth and lays the remaining fish on them. He retrieves a pouch of salt from his bag and sets about rubbing it into the fish, coating them liberally and then wrapping them up tightly within the cloth. “This isn’t really the right way to do this, but since we can’t hunt, it’ll have to do.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and then he’s up and moving again, cleaning his hands in the stream before redressing.

They eat quickly once the fish is ready, then resume their journey. The pace stays steady, no indication that they need to rush. They make camp just after nightfall and Stiles sleeps steadily through the night.


	7. Respite

They're at the edge of the forest the next day, and Derek stops them to debate how best to proceed. They may be in another kingdom, but Stiles won't be entirely unrecognizable. They can't stay still for long though, the Argents’ people have been gaining on them steadily. If Derek had thought they could lose them, he'd have taken a detour, but their destination would have been clear either way, he'd rather stay ahead of them than risk coming out to find them waiting. He'd kept it from Stiles though. No sense worrying him when they couldn't do anything about it. 

In the end, he figures the safest route is the shortest one. He has Stiles don his cloak, dragging the hood up to hide his face in shadows. It's too warm for it, maybe draws as more looks than they might get otherwise, but they can't risk anyone actually recognizing the Crown Prince. 

Nightfall finds them at a tavern half a day's journey from the palace. Derek negotiates them a room while Stiles waits outside. He orders food to be sent up before collecting the other man, using the shadows at the edges to help hide them. He doesn't speak to Stiles until they're safely tucked away in their room.

“We'll leave before first light. Safer that way. We should reach the town around the palace before midday.” Derek talks as he secures the room, dropping his bag in a corner and leaning down to tug off his boots. He’s surprised Stiles isn’t arguing, and turns to make sure he’d been listening, only to bite back a whine. Derek had ignored the large tub off to the side of the bed when he’d walked in, but apparently Stiles hadn’t – he catches a glimpse of ample lengths of pale skin dotted with moles before he slams his eyes shut and turns his back. Derek tries to speak, finds the words stuck in his throat and has to clear it before trying again. “I’ll um, I’ll just…” He trails off, not really sure what to say or do. Of course, he’d seen Stiles in the bath before. Except that was…before. Stiles had been a child then. And Derek had never really looked at him that way. But Stiles is most definitely not a child now, and it isn’t Derek’s right to look. He takes another breath to steady himself and the tries to edge towards the small chair and table in the opposite corner of the room without his eyes straying to the tub again. It doesn’t stop him from hearing the relieved sigh as Stiles sinks down into the water. Neither of them had had much time for a bath in quite a while now, he can only imagine how good it feels to soak, feel the grit and grime from days of travel lift off of the skin. Derek settles down to eat his portion of the supper that had been left in the room for them. He’s just sopping up the last of the gravy with his bread when he hears the clang of Stiles climbing out of the tub.

“Ugh, all that is going to waste as soon as I put these back on again.” There’s definite annoyance in Stiles’ tone. He listens for the rustle of fabric that would indicate Stiles is redressing, but it doesn’t come. 

“Stiles?”

“I can’t, I just can’t.” It comes out on a whine and is followed by a splash as something is dumped into the tub. Derek assumes it’s Stiles’ clothes and he clenches his eyes shut. They should’ve just slept on the road. What follows is a round of sighs interspersed with faint splashes. If he’s surprised to hear a prince cleaning his own laundry, Derek refrains from saying so. Soft footsteps head his direction and Derek can feel his spine snapping to attention, shoulders tensing, hand clamping down on the table tighter and tighter with every step closer Stiles takes. He can feel the heat of Stiles behind him when he finally unclenches his jaw.

“Stiles…I…” A hand briefly touches his shoulder, an arm coming into view and he shuts his eyes tight again. 

“Everything okay?” Derek shakes his head, but isn’t sure how to answer. Isn’t sure how to handle this at all really.

“Derek, look at me.” Derek can hear the creaking of the table under his fingertips, the faint sounds of the weakest parts splintering under the pressure. He can only shake his head again before there’s warmth enveloping the hand closest to Stiles. It takes him a minute to register that it’s Stiles’ hand covering his own.

“Derek…” The quiet question finally unsticks his tongue.

“Stiles, it’s not…proper for me to be in here when you’re disrobed. I –” Stiles’ laughter cuts him off.

“Derek, I’m not disrobed,” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice and Derek can almost picture Stiles’ mouth tilting up at the corner, “I’m perfectly decent. I’ve got on my small clothes – which you’ve seen me in several times now – and my cloak over that anyhow. Gods, did you think I was wandering around behind you, naked as my name day?” Derek can feel himself flushing and Stiles’ laughter only increase. Derek slits his eyes open, confirming what Stiles said before leaning back and glaring. “I’m sorry – it’s just – wow.” The words are broken by bouts of giggles, though Derek can see Stiles visibly trying to rein himself in. It takes several more minutes. When he’s finally calm, Derek harrumphs at the second apology attempt and stands from the table.

“Just for that, you’re taking the floor tonight.” Stiles tries to protest, but Derek just chucks the blankets he’d pulled from his pack at Stiles’ head and flops face down onto the bed, wriggling his way to the middle. He can hear noises of indignation coming from Stiles but he valiantly ignores them and is out within minutes.

****

Derek wakes feeling like he’s on fire, a heavy weight resting on him. It takes his brain a few moments to catch up but when it does, he feels himself go rigid. Stiles is draped across him, mouth open, breath puffing into Derek’s throat, legs tangled with Derek’s own. The cloak is nowhere to be seen and there’s a hardness pressing against Derek’s hip. He does his best to ease away carefully, trying not to disturb Stiles, but he clearly has terrible luck when the movement startles Stiles awake. 

“Wha–” He watches Stiles’ hand move up to wipe away the sleep, shifting him just enough that Derek can escape the bed. He’s across the room in a blink, grabbing up his boots and shoving them on his feet before rolling up the blankets Stiles obviously didn’t use the night before. A quick glance around the room shows Stiles’ pants and overshirt hanging off a chair that had been moved near the small fireplace, so Derek grabs those and tosses them in the direction of the bed.

“Rude. So rude.” There’s a groan and the sound of joints popping as Stiles gets out of bed and begins to drag on his clothing. Derek lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

The sky outside the window is starting to lighten when Stiles is finally set to rights and they exit the tavern, heading down the road past still sleeping farms and towards the Yukimura Palace.


	8. Guardians

Despite the short distance they had to cover today, they still don’t reach the town until just after midday, and Stiles is exhausted. He’s also more nervous – there are a lot more people here than he’s seen since he fled his home. Derek sticks to his side, eyes constantly on the lookout for danger, and it helps to assure him. It may have been years, but it’s clear that Derek still remembers all of his training. It probably helps that his senses are so sharp as well. They try to blend in with the people moving to and from the marketplace, putting themselves closer to the palace. Stiles isn’t sure how they’ll get in though, and for the first time since they set off, he’s starting to worry he might not be able to. There’s a sudden commotion to the side of them and Stiles barely has time to turn towards it when Derek is darting away from him. It puts him on alert, thinking the man saw something to indicate danger, and he’s ready to gather his magic when his eyes finally catch where Derek’s gone, causing his jaw to drop.

There’s a beautiful dark-haired woman bundled in Derek’s arms and he’s spinning her in a circle, head tipped back in laughter, eyes moist at the edges. When they stop, her face is angled away from Stiles so he can’t quite see who it is, but he has his suspicions. He draws close enough to hear their conversation, trying to move so she’s no longer hidden.

“Der – I can’t believe it. After the fire we thought – we couldn’t find you, we thought you were dead. We looked and looked.” There’s a thickness in the woman’s voice that speaks of grief and tears.

“Shh, Laur, shh. It’s okay. I’m okay. I made it, I’m here.” There’s a soft noise of relief and the woman is burying her face in Derek’s neck again, arms wrapped tightly around him, shoulders quaking with sobs. Derek continues to pet at her back and hair, his own arms wrapped just as tightly, and Stiles feels like an intruder. He catches Derek’s eyes and nods his head, moving to step away when Derek’s arm snakes out and grabs onto his wrist, pulling him closer to them. The woman – Laura, Derek’s sister, he’d thought it was her but now it’s confirmed – edges back a little, body turning in Derek’s arms to assess him.

“Stiles…shit.” His name is a whispered hiss on her tongue before she darts a glance at their surroundings and clamps her hand on the arm Derek’s not holding onto. “We have to get him inside, this isn’t safe.” Both Hales fall into formation around him, Stiles wonders if they’re even aware of it. He can’t believe he could’ve ever forgotten them, when his childhood was so taken by them. It’s so familiar to see, Laura slightly ahead of him, Derek dropping back to shadow his steps – they’d practiced before every outing his father allowed him to attend, the guards moving seamlessly around him and one another. He didn’t realize how much had been stolen from him. He follows where Laura leads, around stalls and merchants, through a small alley and into the back door of some building or other. His eyes are still adjusting when he hears joyful shouts spring up all around them.

****

The Hales, it turns out, have all been living here at the foot of the Yukimura Palace, ever since the fire. They’d thought Derek had been caught inside, hadn’t found anything to suggest he’d made it out, though they’d looked for weeks after, whenever it was safe enough. They’re overjoyed that he’s back with them, and surprised to find Stiles in his company. They’ve got rooms just above the tannery they control here, and they usher Derek and Stiles into separate ones, drawing them lukewarm baths and providing fresh clothing, telling them to take their time and come down to eat when they’re clean. It’s a little overwhelming after so long being virtually alone.

He can hear when Derek is back down with the others, the conversations picking up again, but Stiles takes his time, lingers in the bath until the tepid water gets cold, sending goosebumps running along his skin. Even then he’s tempted to stay, it’s quieter here. His stomach rumbles loudly when he’s considering just drying off and borrowing whoever’s bed this is, but he gives up and dresses, making his way back downstairs slowly. That sense of intrusion has increased. Yes, he grew up with the Hales, but he hasn’t seen them in years, didn’t even remember them all until about a week ago, he doesn’t really belong here. He belongs back in Beacon, and he is going to have to ask these people – who’ve had to give up their lives, who’ve made something new and peaceful for themselves – to give all that up and help him get there. He doesn’t want to have to do that. 

“Stiles!” He’s startled out of his thoughts at the exuberant voice, shocked when he’s enveloped in a warm hug. The person – woman – pulls back and cups his face, her eyes roving over it and taking in all the changes. He can see moisture in the corners of his eyes, recognizes Talia, Derek’s mother and the head of the guard. She was his own mother’s personal knight, it was rare he’d ever see them apart, and it undoes something in him to see her again, after all this time. “I’m so sorry about Claudia, Stiles. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for her and for you.” He turns his head, swallowing hard, his own eyes filling with tears at the reminder. She draws him back in, petting his hair before pulling back and taking his elbow, leading him to the rest of the group seated at the long table, now piled high with food. She settles him on the bench, Derek to his right, and sits herself to his left so that he’s caught between the two of them. Derek’s side is pressed against his, a long line of warmth, and he feels a nudge against his knee. He glances over and sees a small smile playing on Derek’s mouth, lets it curl his own lips in response, and turns to tuck into the food.

****

They talk as they eat, Stiles catching the Hales up on everything he can remember from the last seven years, Derek taking up the story when Stiles gets to how they found one another. The group listens intently, explaining how they’d ended up here after the fire, taken in by Noshiko but unable to stay in the palace, lest the Argents make any sort of visit. The queen had wanted to help them, had thought something was very strange in Beacon. It’s reassuring to hear, means Deaton set Stiles on the right path. Talia assures them that she can get them in to see the queen, but they’ll need to wait until nightfall, when it’s easier to move without notice.

Stiles takes the time to reacquaint himself with the guard, taking note of the absences. Derek’s father is, of course, gone. But so is his uncle Peter, his two eldest brothers, and his younger sister. Stiles starts to ask, but thinks better of it. They’re not here, which is answer enough. It’s strange to see how the time has changed everyone, his memories of them stopping when they’d left, so that people he remembers as children are now grown. The most noticeable change is with Erica, an orphaned girl that the Hales took in as a child. Stiles remembers that they’d allowed her to squire for them, had been training her despite the fainting sickness she’d had, but now she looks healthier than Stiles does. To either side of her are new faces, a man introduced as Isaac sits on her right, blond curls tangled on his head, features sharp like Erica’s, they could almost be mistaken for twins if Stiles didn’t know better. To her left is a man with skin a deep umber and kind eyes. He’s quiet, but he listens just as intently as the others, his fingers wrapping around Erica’s small hand when she explains how she ended up a knight.

“Talia saved me, gave me the bite when I was 14. I had another spell, and I wasn’t getting better. Boyd asked for it a year later, when he was sure he was going to court me.” She indicates the man on her left and he smiles at her, affection filling his face.

“The bite?” Stiles hasn’t heard the phrase before, or has forgotten it if he had.

“It’s a gift, not one given lightly. There are two ways to make a werewolf: be born one, or be bitten by an alpha. If you survive the turning, you become one of us, part of the pack.” Derek had been quiet again, seemingly content to let Stiles catch up, but he spoke now. Stiles nods his understanding and turns back to the conversation. He starts to drift eventually, lulled by his full belly and the sense of safety surrounding him. He can feel himself tipping sideways until his head is resting against Derek’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut. He lets the doze take him, there’s still a while yet before they can leave. As he’s drifting off, he thinks he hears a whisper of conversation above his head, Talia leaning across him to talk to Derek. But maybe it’s just his imagination.

****

He’s roused awake a few hours later, given a fresh cloak and ushered out of the back door he’d come in through earlier. Stiles is still wiping the sleep from his eyes when the group – pack, he reminds himself – is finally all gathered. Talia is rattling off instructions, telling them to move in pairs only. She stays with Stiles and Derek as the others go, each pair heading in a different direction. When they’re the only ones remaining she turns to him.

“The palace is safe, but the streets may not be. We received word the day after you fled that the Crown Prince of Beacon had gone missing. The queen’s plans to travel for the festivities were stopped. There’ve been other birds since; the most recent warned that they believed Prince Mieczyslaw had been kidnapped.” She darts a glance at Derek, her lips pursed, but Stiles watches him merely shrug in reply. There’s nothing really to be said about it – they all know it isn’t true, and it would’ve been far more dangerous to send Stiles alone. Talia sighs and continues, starting to move them along. “There’s a reward being offered, it’s enough to make it dangerous for anyone to know you’re here, no matter how loyal they might be towards their queen. We’re headed to a small entrance around the back of the palace – Noshiko made us aware of it when we first arrived, told us to use it only in an emergency if we needed to speak to her. It connects to a secret passage. We’ll meet everyone once we’re inside.”

Stiles nods his understanding and sticks close to her back, following her through side streets and behind buildings as they move towards the looming palace. He dutifully tilts his face away on the odd occasion that they run across anyone, but he’s still surprised when they make it to the door she indicates without incident. The passageway is dark and damp, leaving him uneasy, but he does his best to trust in his restored memory, knowing how loyal the Hales had been once upon a time. Eventually there’s brightness ahead, the passage beginning to open up as they ascend the steps. The sudden light is hard to bear after so much darkness. He’s blinking rapidly when he hears a shout, eyes barely adjusting in time to see a man barreling at him, dark hair flopping as he runs, before Stiles is swept up into a crushing hug and being spun around to laughter so familiar it makes him ache.

“Scotty!” He’s clutching back just as fiercely now, tears of joy gather at the corners of his eyes and spilling over. “I didn’t know you were here! Nobody told me!” He wants to glare at the Hales, but he understands – if they remembered how close he and Scott were, they’d have known that telling him would’ve meant leaving immediately for the palace, danger be damned.

“Stiles! I thought I’d never see you again, I can’t believe you’re here. And you remember me!” Scott’s crying now too, still wrapped up in Stiles. It’s like the rest of the world has faded away from them, and it’s not until several throats start clearing that they finally break apart. They both turn and glance sheepishly at the rest of the pack. Stiles is ready to ask what they need to do now when a door he hadn’t noticed opens and a woman with pale skin and ebony hair comes in. She’s followed by a younger woman who is most clearly her daughter, both of them dressed in finery meant for travel. Stiles is puzzled when the pack slowly begins to drop to their knees around him, until the woman speaks.

“Prince Mieczyslaw, we’ve been waiting for you. I’m Queen Noshiko; this is my daughter, Crown Princess Kira.” Warmth dances in her eyes when he inclines his head, his torso dipping slightly. “None of that now, we don’t have the time. We have a kingdom to save right?”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been around for a long time Mieczyslaw –”

“Stiles. Please. Just Stiles.”

“Stiles then. I knew something was wrong, but I haven’t had enough information until now. You running away spoiled my plans actually. My retinue was set to arrive for the tournament part of your celebration, we had everything arranged, but we couldn’t come once we’d received word you were gone. Deaton sent a message, coded, that told me he hoped you were coming our way. So we’ve been working on a new plan. And now you’re here and we can set it in motion.” She motions to a table near the middle of the room and Stiles lets out a relieve breath as he makes his way over, Talia and Derek at his back.


	9. Alliance

The discussions take most of the night. Derek stands dutifully behind Stiles, watching as Scott takes up a place behind Kira, close enough that his arm brushes against her back occasionally. He wonders at what’s going on there, but it’s not his business. Noshiko explains what they’ve found, and he listens intently.

“There’s a woman, Julia – we’re not sure where she came from, but she’s a druid, like Deaton. Her magic is twisted though, she uses it to hurt and steal. She’s the source of the spell and they’ve got her hidden away in the palace somewhere. We had planned to infiltrate their guards, replace as many with our own as we could, while everyone was enjoying the tournament, use the time the palace would be mostly empty to hunt for her. Talia assured me that magic has a smell, we’d planned to try and use that to our advantage to find her. Of course, then you were gone and there was no celebration.”

“Sorry about that, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” Stiles shrugs and Noshiko laughs lightly, eyes crinkling.

“Yes well, we’d already been working on a replacement plan. We’ve been dragging it out, hoping you’d arrive. We sent word to Beacon offering our concern and help. We received a messenger from your father, thanking us and saying help would be welcome. We’ve been preparing to go – we’ll be taking the pack as well as my most trusted guards. The pack will be safe.” She’s offering assurances to Stiles and the pack, nodding at them all. “Our knights have helms that cover most of the face; we’ve got enough to spare to make sure everyone is concealed. The Argents might be suspicious still, but we don’t intend to give them a chance to act on it. Once we’re in the castle, we’ll do our best to quietly spread our guards out and begin searching. We’ll find her and we’ll stop them, restore your kingdom Stiles.” Derek tracks her hand as it flits briefly to rest against Stiles’, eyes narrowing when he catches a tiny splay of light pulse out at the contact. Noshiko doesn’t seem surprised, makes a quiet noise to herself as if she’s just confirmed a suspicion, but she doesn’t say anything about it. There’s a small window and it’s been steadily growing lighter beyond it. Noshiko glances up and stands. “Let’s get you all in some rooms, we’ll leave tomorrow night, but first you’ll all need rest. It’s been a long night.”

****

Derek’s been safely stuck in his room for hours, pacing because he can’t sleep. He wants to get moving, the journey will take only a few days with the strong horses they’ll be using. The sooner they start, the sooner they can fix things. Or at least, he hopes they can. He’s crossing in front of the bed again when there’s a soft knock at the door that joins his room to Stiles’ and he steps over and opens it hesitantly.

“I see you can’t sleep either.” Stiles’ hair is sticking up at all angles, as if he’d been running his fingers from it. Derek takes a moment to look, seeing the dark circles that have been present beneath Stiles’ eyes ever since he came barreling back into Derek’s life weeks ago. He looks frazzled, hands fidgeting in the soft linen clothes he was given for sleeping. He shuts the door behind him as he steps more fully into Derek’s room, moves closer to Derek, eyes searching his face.

“No, not really. But I should try. So should you.” Stiles nods at him, acknowledging the words but making no move to leave.

“Let me stay?” Derek’s eyes widen, eyebrows seeming to shoot up his face at the request.

“Stiles…”

“No listen, I haven’t been alone for almost two weeks. I can’t sleep in there by myself. What if someone knows I’m here? I’m so close to getting home, to making things right, but if something happens…” And Derek understands so he gives in, though he knows he shouldn’t. He sets about putting out the few candles that he’d lit, leaving only the one next to the bed burning. He crawls into one side, Stiles slipping into the other, the distance of the bed separating them. Derek blows out the last candle and settles back, closing his eyes and letting the steady thump of Stiles’ heart lull him under. He’s nearly out when the beat suddenly changes, the bed shifting as Stiles moves towards him.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

“Please, I’ve seen how you look at me, you must know how I see you. How I’ve always seen you.” The words are quiet in the darkness, bare whispers coming closer to him, giving him time to deny it, to put an end.

“We shouldn’t, it’s not right.”

“I disagree; this doesn’t feel wrong to me.”

“You’re a prince, Stiles.”

“Not right now, not here, I’m just me, and I want –” Derek cuts him off when he rolls over, pushing Stiles onto his back and caging him in, mouth dropping down to capture Stiles’ lips in a heated kiss. Because Stiles wasn’t wrong, Derek had spent weeks trying not to look at him, but he was tired of it. Of pretending he didn’t want the man laid out beneath him. Right and wrong flew out of his hands as their lips met, mouths parting, Derek’s tongue slipping between Stiles’ lips, tasting what he’d never imagined he’d get a chance to taste. He slips a hand beneath Stiles’ head, pulling it up towards him, one of Stiles’ legs hitching around Derek’s waist, dragging him down until they were pressed tightly together from hip to chest. Derek rolls his hips, feels a hardness pressing up into his own, groans into Stiles’ mouth, hears an answering noise from Stiles. His body moves more steadily, finding a rhythm, Stiles arching up to meet him, an urgency infusing everything. He’s lost in the sounds and sensations, the feel of Stiles warm and willing beneath him, so at first he doesn’t notice the shaking. Doesn’t notice until it’s strong enough to rattle the candlestick off the small end table, when the clattering snaps him out of it. He gasps and rolls off of Stiles, putting distance between them, using a palm to Stiles’ chest to stop him from climbing back over to him.

“No. We can’t Stiles. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” There’s something small in Stiles’ voice, something that makes Derek ache with the desire to kiss it away, but he can’t.

“Because it’s wrong. Stiles, you’re a prince, and I am not even a knight, just a man who lives in the forest.”

“Derek, that’s not true, not even a little. You’re so much more.”

“Not in any way that matters.”

“It matters to me. Please…”

“No. I think –” he takes a deep breath and continues, though he doesn’t want to. “I think you need to go back to your own rooms. It’s better that way.” Stiles makes a noise of hurt but he stops fighting. It hurts Derek, but he knows it’s better, that nothing would ever come of this, and it could cause problems for Stiles later if he let it go any further than it already had. He doesn’t lift his gaze when he hears the door open, can see out of the corner of his eye that Stiles is turned back towards him, but Derek doesn’t look, waits until the door closes again before turning onto his side, back to the doorway, and tries to sleep. It’s fitful, and he doesn’t feel even the least bit rested hours later when Talia comes to rouse them, her jaw tight as she scents the air of the room and gives Derek a disapproving look.

******

Stiles is woken by a knock on his door and he shuffles over, stepping back when Talia sweeps through and tells him to get dressed. She’s more clipped now than she was the previous day and Stiles feels off-kilter. He dresses quickly and packs his things into his bag before following her through the mostly empty halls until they reach the main courtyard. There are two carriages and a large number of horses waiting for them, knights in full regalia loading the rest of the supplies. Stiles is directed into a carriage for now, though he’s been told he’ll be shifted and added to the knights before they arrive. He settles in for the journey and closes his eyes again, the exhaustion from the last several weeks catching up to him.

They ride through the rest of the night and well into the day, stopping only for an hour to rest the horses and have a small lunch before pushing on. When they make camp for the night, he’s given a tent to share with Scott and Isaac, who’ve been assigned to guard him. He avoids Derek, feeling strange to be without him after all of the time they’d spent together. He’s ready to retire for the night but thinks maybe he should say something, apologize for not thinking, or something, but the second he moves towards him he’s stopped by Talia. She shakes her head and steers him towards his tent, and he assumes that she must know what happened. It would certainly explain why his guard had been changed. He resigns himself to the thought that Derek was right – no matter how right it feels for Stiles, it’s not possible. He goes to sleep longing for something he’ll never have.

****

The second day is just as uneventful as the first – his travel spent in the carriage with Noshiko going over the plan again, and it makes Stiles uncomfortable that things seem to be moving so smoothly. Not enough to question it, though he doesn’t sleep well, knowing they’ll arrive in Beacon tomorrow. When they set about breaking camp the following morning, he’s bundled into the armor common to Noshiko’s knights, his body sagging a little under the weight, unused to the heft of the metals. Scott helps him onto one of the large horses, snickering as Stiles groans and shakes trying to mount the animal. He does eventually make it up though, and feels more confident once he’s settled in.

They’re met at the gates to the castle by guards he knows are loyal to the Argents, and it sets his heart racing, worry filling him that something will go wrong, but they’re let in without any incident, and he relaxes incrementally, falling in line with the guards as they dismount. They’re led through familiar halls to a wing Stiles knows is always reserved for important guests, a part of the castle he’s not used to being in. It’s hard when they pass his father, he has to avert his gaze, certain his eyes would betray him. There’s open grief on King John’s face, more lines adorning it than Stiles remembers from just a few short weeks ago, and he aches for knowing he’s the cause. He sees Gerard lean close and murmur into John’s ear, and is surprised when his father turns and snaps at the Chancellor. He can’t remember that happening in all of the years that the Argents had been in control. Gerard’s eyes tighten and it seems that caught him off guard as well. It gives Stiles a renewed hope, maybe the Argents control isn’t as strong as they’d thought it was. Stiles is given a room to share with Scott and they settle in to wait for nightfall.

****

It’s been dark for hours when Kira slips into their room, and Stiles can’t help but notice the faint dusting of blush that spreads on Scott’s cheeks. He wonders about it but leaves it alone for now, and moves with Scott and Kira towards the middle of the room, where they talk in hushed whispers, memories of his mother’s paranoia coming back to haunt him.

“Everyone is spread out; they’re starting to search for Julia. Hopefully we can find her soon. But Stiles – there’s something you should know. I overheard a conversation on my way here. Victoria was talking to Allison, assuring her they’d find you and that your betrothal would continue. Allison seemed…confused. She asked her mother what she was talking about and Victoria told her that there’d been a hitch in the plans, but they were going to iron it all out, that they had a new way to get it done now that there were other people in the palace. Stiles – they plan to kill your father.” He gasps, starts to move towards the door but is stopped by Kira’s hand on his arm. “That’s not all – apparently this was the plan all along. They’d been biding their time waiting for you to reach your coming of age. They had an assassination planned during the tournament. They were going to use magic to coerce you into a marriage with Allison as soon as the mourning period had ended, convince you that you had to marry to secure your position. I think eventually they were going to kill you too. Allison seemed horrified, tried to ask why her mother would do such a thing. Victoria seemed annoyed that her daughter didn’t know already, began mumbling about her coward of a husband. I’m not sure what happened after that, there was a noise coming up the corridor and I had to move.”

Stiles isn’t sure what to do with this information. He feels stuck, he’s supposed to wait in the rooms until they get the all clear from the rest of the guards, but he wants to be out there searching, now more than ever. His father is in danger and he has to protect him. He must make some noise, shift his body some, because there are suddenly two hands holding him back.

“Stiles you can’t – if they find you it’ll be bad.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing Scott, it’s my father.” He watches as Scott shakes his head sadly and he gets it, Scott is doing what he was told, he’s protecting Stiles, but right now he can’t accept it. He shakes his own head.

“Scotty, I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” The words are barely out before Stiles is drawing in power, releasing it with a snap that sends Scott and Kira flying back from him. He hopes they’re not hurt too badly, but he doesn’t have time to check. He’s grabs his cloak, flinging it over his shoulders and flipping the hood up before he darts into the hall, slipping into a hidden passage that he used to play in.

****

He feels like he’s been wandering the hidden hallways for hours, tracking from one passage to the next. He’d expected a buildup of dust and spiders, but the ways are clean, fresh candles burning intermittently throughout. He’s beginning to suspect that he wasn’t the only one who knew about these. He finds more evidence that someone has been using them, small spyholes that didn’t exist during his childhood, pointing into the rooms owned by the Argents, but not just them. He finds ones that peek in at the throne room, ones that can monitor all of his father’s rooms, ones spying on his own rooms. He’s more tense with each new spyhole he finds. 

He moves with more purpose, searching through the rooms that connect to the passage before remembering a small room he’d played in often as a child. Windowless, at the top of a number of stairs, down a passage that branches off from the one leading to his father’s rooms. He backtracks to the right spot, follows the curve of the wall, notes how worn the grooves are now and speeds up. He reaches the top of the steps, cautiously pushes against the door and smiles when it swings wide, revealing a well-lit room with a new bed, a small table with books scattered across it.

“I’ve got you now.” It’s a fierce whisper, something warm unfurling in his chest because he knows where she is, now all he needs is to let Noshiko know. He’s about to turn back when he hears the whisper of cloth on stone behind him, a voice coming out of nowhere as something hard connects with the back of his head and the lights go out on him.

“No Stiles, now I’ve got you.”


	10. The Search

Derek and the others are pacing Talia’s room, frustrated. They’d searched much of the castle already, but there were too many unfamiliar scents to find one that would be out of place. Noshiko is sitting quietly at a small table, listening to the reports, seeming undisturbed by the lack of progress so far.

“We still have time. It’s only the first night.”

“Noshiko, you know as well as I do that every minute spent here increases our chance of discovery.” Talia’s voice is firm, unwavering. Derek sees Noshiko acknowledge her and open her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by the door banging open. The wolves are all instantly on alert, claws out, when Scott and Kira come skidding into the room, already talking. Boyd slips over to the door and closes it as Noshiko holds up a hand to quiet the two.

“Kira, what’s happened? Where’s Stiles?” And now Derek’s on alert, he’d forgotten that Stiles was Scott’s responsibility tonight. He can feel his heart pounding, the worry bleeding out of him. Talia catches his eyes, makes a motion with her hand to wait. He takes a breath and does his best to remain still, listening as Kira recounts what had happened, the pulse of magic Stiles let out (which doesn’t seem to surprise Noshiko at all) and his subsequent flight through the castle.

“We followed his scent trail through several hidden passages, but then it just stopped.”

“Stopped?” This time it was Talia who spoke, the skepticism apparent in her voice. It was nearly impossible to lose a wolf from your tail.

“It’s like he just…vanished into thin air.” Scott sounds distraught when he answers and Derek’s hackles go up, because that can’t happen. People don’t disappear without a trace, if Stiles’ scent is gone, someone was behind it. Talia and Noshiko are talking rapidly to one another, voices pitched so that even the wolves in the room have trouble picking out the words. They seem to reach some conclusion when there’s a commotion in the hall and one of the guards that Derek doesn’t know comes rushing in.

“Majesty, they know.” Noshiko’s eyes widen and she’s out of her chair in a flash, yanking the skirts of her gown away and off to reveal trousers and sliding a blade out from behind her back. He catches sight of Kira doing the same, and turns a questioning glance at his mother. She mouths ‘later’ back at him and he nods, content to let it go as long as someone knows what is happening. The guards within the room are back on full alert, moving to flank the royals as they prepare to leave their quarters, the sounds of fighting drifting in from deeper in the castle. Those without claws have drawn swords, the rest letting their beta shift take over, teeth and nails lengthening into weapons just as deadly. Talia takes a moment to confer with Noshiko before moving towards the front of the group and leading them out into the hall. 

****

There’s fighting everywhere, guards keep splitting off as they move through the castle to join the efforts. Derek keeps pressing forward, Scott and Isaac flanking him as they follow his mother towards the center. He keeps his senses as open as possible, hunting for a flare of Stiles’ scent. There’s a sudden shout behind them and he spins, realizing they’d missed a small passage and Argent guards were pouring out of it, waylaying the rear and getting close to Noshiko. He watches, entranced for a minute, as an aura kicks up around the queen, white light seeming to bleed off her skin as she drags a small set of blades from a belt he hadn’t noticed, cracking them. Wisps of smoke emerge, coalescing into shadowy warriors. A clawed grip on his shoulder jolts him back to attention, and he turns his head to find his mother standing next to him.

“Keep going, I’ll stay with Noshiko. There’s something…a scent that seems wrong, coming from ahead.” Derek nods and spins back around, Scott and Isaac trailing behind as he rushes the corridor, dodging small scuffles. He’s gone maybe twenty feet when he catches the scent himself. Faint tendrils that remind him of Stiles, heavily coated by something dark that sets his hair on end. He follows the trail it leaves, the smell thickening as they approach the doors to the throne room, curiously left unguarded. It feels like a trap, but the scent of Stiles is stronger here, so he opens the doors and moves into the room. The three wolves are barely across the threshold when the doors slam behind them, and a voice he hadn’t heard in years curls out of the darkness to his right. 

“About time, thought we were going to have to wait all night.” Kate moves from the shadows, deep red skirts swirling around her legs, a twisted smirk gracing her mouth. Derek snarls but she just makes a tsking sound at him and points further into the room. He swallows hard when his eyes follow the motion of her hand and he sees what’s awaiting them further in. The king is on the throne, eyes glazed and distant, but that’s not the most worrisome thing. Stiles is on his knees just down from the dais, a woman Derek’s never seen before standing behind him, dagger pressing into his throat, a small ruby of blood welling where the tip is digging into the skin. “Good, now then, time to put the claws away, all of you.” 

The wolves move forward slowly, the shift bleeding out of them. Gerard is standing off to the right ahead as well, leaning against a pillar just out of sight of the doors. He moves forward when the wolves come to a standstill, a smile doing nothing to make his face less sinister.

“I was hoping we’d get a chance to finish what we started, get rid of you rabid dogs once and for all.” He laughs and is joined by Kate, and everything in Derek wants to fight, but he can’t, not with who he assumes is Julia holding Stiles hostage. Gerard has a sword strapped to his hip, something that looks too big for his frail frame, but Derek learned long ago not to underestimate the Argents, he’s sure Gerard is more than capable of wielding it. He watches as Gerard’s hand drops down to the pommel, preparing to draw it, when there’s a soft snicking noise and Julia suddenly cries out, her body going rigid before her hand spasms and the dagger clatters to the ground. Derek’s still trying to process what is happening when he realizes there’s an arrow lodged firmly in her chest and she begins sliding towards the ground. There’s shouting from Kate, and Derek’s eyes flit up to the balcony reserved for courtiers, surprised to see a young woman with porcelain skin and raven hair standing there, a bow in her hands, another arrow already nocked and ready. 

“Allison?” Scott’s voice is quiet, his eyes wide. The girl nods to him before turning her attention back to the remaining danger in the room. Derek faces back forward just as there’s a gasp from the throne. John’s eyes have snapped to attention and the king is heaving himself out of the chair, rushing the few steps down to Stiles and gathering his son in his arms. He recovers after a moment, but Derek heard him mumbling assurances to Stiles that he remembers everything. He steps back, a steady hand on Stiles’ shoulder still, and takes in the scene in front of him. Kate tries to step forward but John turns a glare on her.

“Your Majesty, these men, they came, they attacked –”

“SILENCE!” John nearly roars the word, startling both Kate and Gerard into taking a step backwards, though Derek notes that Gerard’s hand is still on the pommel of his sword. He starts to move forward himself, feels Isaac and Scott doing the same. Kate is quiet for only seconds before she picks up her babbling again.

“You don’t understand, we can explain. It was the Hales, they’re werewolves, I know how crazy it sounds, but it’s true, they’re monsters…”

“Enough.” John’s voice is sharp, though not yelling this time. “Did you think I was unaware? The Hales have stood by this kingdom for a thousand years. Yes, there are monsters here, but it isn’t the wolves.” Kate darts forward, a knife suddenly in her hand, and Gerard moves to draw his sword. The next few minutes are a blur of motion. Derek lunges for Kate, hand wrapping around her throat, claws digging in. There’s a burbling as she tries to speak, blood already filling her throat. He listens with satisfaction as her heartbeat slows and stops. When it’s done, he shakes her free, dropping her to the ground and taking in the scene around him. The throne room is suddenly filled with guards and knights from Noshiko’s retinue; the queen herself is standing over the prone form of Gerard, her blade buried in his heart. A few of the knights break away from the group, removing their helms before dropping to bended knee in front of John – revealing themselves as the guards who’d managed to escape with the Hales all those years ago. The Hales join them. John surveys them all and nods to them to stand before stepping forward to speak.

“Find the rest of the Argents and their guards, arrest them all.” 

“Not all of the Argents.” Noshiko’s voice rises to challenge John and he gives her his attention. She gestures towards the balcony where Allison still waits, her bow dropped down, silent tears falling from her eyes. “I don’t believe Lady Allison had anything to do with this, and I know her father didn’t. He’s the reason we’re here today. Without his help, we wouldn’t have found out who was behind all of this. He’s the one who told us it was Julia whose magic was being used against you all.” John listens to her intently before nodding.

“Victoria though – she was part of it.” This time it’s Kira who speaks, bowing her head as she addresses the king. 

“She’s gone, fled when she saw the fighting was going against them.” There’s a new voice at the back of the room and they all turn to face it. A gaunt man comes in, tears edging his eyes as he glances at the bodies still lying on the floor, macabre decorations for the reclaiming of the kingdom. 

“Okay then, arrest the remaining guards you can find. Send out messages to the surrounding kingdoms for any you can’t find, and for Victoria.” John sets about dismissing the rest of them, talking briefly with Noshiko, though Derek can’t focus on the words, eyes trailing over Stiles, noting faint bruises from his time with Julia and the Argents. He can’t manage to catch Stiles’ gaze and eventually finds himself dismissed as well, told by Talia that everyone is expected back in the throne room the following day. For now, the king asked for time alone with his son. Scott and Isaac are asked to stay as their guards and Derek wishes he could but knows it’s better he doesn’t. He returns to the room he’d been assigned that morning and sets about packing. He has no intention of staying for whatever meeting they’ve got planned, has a sudden longing for his cabin deep in the woods, for the solitude it will afford him.

****

He’s packed and ready hours later, waiting for most of the castle to drift to sleep, when he hears the door to his room open. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is, the heartbeat and scent both so familiar already. He can feel the hesitation before Stiles moves deeper into the room, his voice pitched softly.

“So you’re just going to leave. Without even saying goodbye.” Derek doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he keeps quiet. He hears the shuffle of steps as Stiles comes closer, feels the heat of him when he wraps himself around Derek’s back, arms circling his waist, mouth next to his ear. “Please don’t go. Stay.”

“Stiles…” The name is a sigh on Derek’s lips.

“Please.” Stiles’ voice cracks and Derek breaks, turns and envelopes Stiles in his arms, mouth seeking and finding Stiles’. The kiss is urgent and needy, teeth nipping as Derek walks them backwards, gently sitting on the bed and dragging Stiles into his lap without breaking the kiss. Stiles grinds down against him, their touches speeding, a new heat flaring through Derek. He scoots back further, pulling Stiles with him, hands skimming beneath Stiles’ shirt, fingers catching on his nipples as he swallows the gasps and moans falling from Stiles’ lips. He whines when Stiles breaks the kiss, but smiles when he realizes it’s only to free them both of their shirts, reveling in the skin bared to him, the feel of it pressing against his own. There’s a small weight dropped onto the bed next to Derek and he darts his gaze away, rumbling his pleasure when Stiles takes the opportunity to trail kisses down his jaw, licking and sucking at the taut skin of his neck. He drops a hand down to the object that had fallen, eyes widening when he comes up with a small vial of oil and he leans back, his other hand moving to cup Stiles’ jaw and get his attention.

“Stiles, what is this?” Stiles flushes, eyes flicking down and teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.

“It’s oil, for…” His hands wave around a little, gesturing between Derek and himself, and Derek arches a brow. “I want you. Inside. Of me.” Derek can’t help the hitch in his breath.

“Stiles…”

“Please. Please don’t say no to this.” And Derek can’t. He knows he should. Knows what kind of danger he’s putting Stiles in, not to mention the danger to himself – if anyone found out he’d taken the prince’s virtue…but he doesn’t care. This is his only change probably, and he’s going to take it. He nods and eases Stiles over until he’s pressed into the bed. Derek sits back on his heels, dragging Stiles’ pants slowly down his hips, relishing every inch of skin revealed. He trails kisses along Stiles’ stomach and hips, slips the linen over his ass, smirking at the gasp when Stiles’ cock springs free, flushed red and leaking. Derek leans back and slides the pants the rest of the way off, dropping them off the bed. “You too,” it’s said with a nudge from Stiles’ foot against his hip and Derek obliges, moving off the bed and kicking his pants away before crawling back up, settling his weight against Stiles and rolling his hips down as he catches Stiles’ mouth in another kiss before easing back again, anchoring Stiles’ legs around his hips and lifting his bottom off the bed slightly. Derek reaches over and retrieves the vial again, carefully unscrewing it and drizzling the oil on his fingers, rubbing it around until they’re well coated. He drops his hand down, running it briefly across Stiles’ length, eliciting a low moan, before moving it further down and back, sliding in the cleft between Stiles’ cheeks, the pads of his fingers catching on the tight pucker, causing Stiles to gasp.

“Okay?” His voice is rough, his breath coming in pants that match Stiles’. He waits until Stiles nods, gently circling his rim. Keeps waiting until the tension seeps out of Stiles, his body easing, and then Derek’s slowly pushing the tip of his finger past the tight muscle, amazed at how easily Stiles opens for him. He spends minutes sliding his finger in and out, exploring the softness inside of Stiles, until Stiles is squirming beneath him, croaking out a soft ‘more’, and Derek obliges. He works his way up slowly, fingers pressing and stretching, moving from two to three with only a tiny stop to add more oil. Stiles is practically writhing beneath him now, hips pushing back to meet Derek’s fingers.

“Ready, m’ready Der, please.” He grabs the oil once more, pooling it in his palm and sliding it along his length, hissing at the sensation, before lining himself up with Stiles’ entrance and beginning the slow and steady push inside. Derek’s breath hisses out of him when he bottoms out, arms bracing him above Stiles. He can feel Stiles’ heels digging into the small of his back where his legs are wrapped around him, can feel the breath puffing against his cheek and turns, mouth seeking Stiles’, drawing him into a deep kiss. He remains still, making sure Stiles has time to adjust before experimentally rocking his hips, causing Stiles to break the kiss on a moan.

“Good?”

“Gods yes, so good, move Der.” He’s helpless in the face of this, and he loses himself in it. His hips rock against Stiles, the slap of their skin providing a backdrop to the moans spilling from both of them. He can feel the pressure building deep inside, the tight slick heat spurring him faster, sweat beading on their skin. 

“Gods Stiles, so perfect, made for me…” He doesn’t even know he’s speaking, lost in the moment.

“Just for you, gods Derek, love you, always loved you. Please, so close, m’so close.” Derek lifts one hand and wraps it around Stiles, palm sliding up and down Stiles’ length in time with his thrusts. He’s starting to lose his rhythm, hips stuttering as he chases his orgasm, and then Stiles clenches down around him, ass so tight on his cock he can’t move, as he spills his release between them. Derek groans at the heady smell of Stiles’ come and the pulse of Stiles’ ass around his cock and falls over the edge, spilling his release inside of Stiles. It feels like the entire building quakes around them as it happens, and he drops like he’s a puppet whose strings have been cut, having just enough presence of mind to shift as he drops down so he’s only half covering Stiles, softening cock still buried inside of him. He lifts a hand, tries to brace himself and move but Stiles’ hand on his back stills him. “Shh, stay. Sleep.” Derek thinks he shouldn’t, but he wants to, so he does, arms digging between Stiles and the blanket to wrap around him.

****

When he wakes in the morning, Stiles is gone. A part of him hurts, but the rest of him knows it’s for the best. He dresses slowly and grabs the bag he packed the night before, still hoping to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately his hope is dashed when he steps into the hall to find his mother waiting, her eyes flicking to the bag on his shoulder and head shaking. He sets the bag back in the room and sighs as he follows her towards the throne room.


	11. Epilogue

Derek is nervous when they enter the throne room. The glances his mother keeps sending his way indicate she’s definitely not unaware of what went on last night, and he isn’t sure what’s going to happen to him. The room is packed, most of the court is there, along with everyone who came with Queen Noshiko. Talia moves them through the crowd, directing Derek to a spot left vacant for him next to Laura. King John is seated on the throne, Stiles standing behind him on the right, Deaton behind him on the left. A few more people straggle in before John’s hands raise, asking for silence, and he stands.

He sets about explaining what had happened, and Derek tunes out for the most part. He knows this already. His attention focuses on Stiles, trying to drink up as much of him as he can. He still plans to leave when this is over, and he wants to look his fill before that happens. He starts when he realizes Stiles is staring back, a soft smile on his face. Derek glances away heart clenching. 

Derek doesn’t pay attention until he feels a gentle nudge against his arm, Laura looking at him questioningly before tipping her head in the direction of the king. He catches on quickly, realizes John is issuing awards to those who helped in the fight, offering renewed knighthood and small lordships to the former guards who’d come back to fight with them. He formally grants Chris the Argent Barony, absolving him of any responsibility for the actions of his family. He also offers Allison a place in the court and her own Duchy for her role in protecting the Crown Prince. She accepts the place at court but declines the lands. John smiles as he acknowledges her choice. Scott is next in line, and is offered the McCall lordship now that he’s returned. Derek’s not really surprised when Scott declines and says that Beacon will always be in his heart, but he’s found a new home in Noshiko’s kingdom. Derek doesn’t miss the pleased smiles from both the queen and her daughter at that.

Talia moves forward when she’s called, and John thanks her for her unwavering loyalty and efforts. He restores her family as the lead knights for the kingdom, granting titles and land to all who had fought alongside her and appointing her the head of his own personal guard. She’s beaming when she returns to her place. Derek’s not sure why he’s surprised when his own name is called, and despite the happy tone of the meeting, he feels dread welling in him, as he takes his place in front of the dais and bows.

“Derek, Mieczyslaw told me everything you did for him.” Derek’s stomach tightens, hopes Stiles left some things out, or the day’s festivities are likely to get much darker. “For that and for what you did for us last night, I would like to offer you a formal place as the head of the guard for the Crown Prince.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but I regret I must decline.” Derek can’t meet Stiles’ eyes, the words like knives out of his mouth.

“And why is that?” Derek startles, his gaze lifting to see John staring at him quizzically. He hadn’t asked for explanations from anyone else when they declined part of their rewards and Derek’s words are stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain that he cannot stand by and watch as Stiles is married off to someone else. He’s sputtering, and he watches in fear as John’s gaze moves to Stiles and back to him, his eyebrows lifting slightly before a small smile spreads across his face. “Oh. That. Well, maybe before you decline you’d like to hear the rest of what I have to offer you.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He’s holding his breath, unsure where this is going, caught off guard by the strange behavior of the king.

“In light of Scott declining his lordship, I find myself with a bit of land that needs governing. You seem to be quite adept at taking care of things that have run a little wild,” John smirks a bit at this and Derek can feel a flush stealing across his face, “I thought that I might award you the lordship. It was once very well respected, I’m sure it will be again. The land and title are yours. As is a place in the court.”

“I’m not sure what to say, Your Majesty.”

“Say yes!” Stiles practically shouts it and the room titters with laughter. Derek flushes completely, cheeks on fire.

“I’d listen to him, son. I mean, he’s already put the cart before the horse a bit, but you did want to court him openly, right?” There’s only a hint of an edge to John’s voice and Derek wishes he could melt into the floor.

“I…yes but…how…um, not that…” He can’t make his mouth behave and spit out the words, and he can see Stiles laughing from his position behind his father.

“Well…the castle doesn’t normally shake in the middle of the night for no reason. And even without a magic spell, my son isn’t usually very happy to be roused in the morning. Imagine my surprise when I found him sneaking back into his room at dawn.”

“Your Majesty, please forgive me, I didn’t mean…”

“Calm down Derek. I’ve known for years – well, I knew and then when I got my memory back again – that my son has been enamored with you. I always assumed he’d find a way to persuade me to allow a relationship – Mieczyslaw can be very determined when he gets an idea into his head. So, what do you say to my offers?” Derek takes a deep breath, pretends to think, before speaking.

“Yes, to all of it.” Stiles whoops with joy and flings himself down the steps, Derek barely has enough time to open his arms before they’re filled with the other man. Stiles’ joy is infectious and Derek finds himself laughing along until Stiles slides their mouths together, fingers digging into the hair at Derek’s nape. His mouth parts and Stiles’ tongue slips inside, groaning into the kiss, and Derek’s lips twitch up where they’re pressed to Stiles’. Derek feels a jolt as the castle shifts and he draws back from Stiles at the clearing of a throat.

“Your Highness, I think, perhaps, we may need to work on controlling your spark before any more of…that…happens.” Deaton has stepped forward, a grin on his face as he indicates where Stiles and Derek are still wrapped around one another. Stiles has the grace to look a little ashamed, realizing just what Deaton meant, and he moves so that he’s next to Derek, locking their hands together.

“Of course.” He nods at Deaton, avoids the cringey smile his father is sending their way and turns his face back towards Derek’s. “So you’ll stay then?”

“Forever.” Stiles’ smile is blinding and he darts forward to press a soft peck to Derek’s lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, you've made it to the end! Thank you to everyone who got this far. I loved writing for Kai's art, and although my muse was rude at times, I'm glad to have finished. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> And don't forget to go follow [Kaistrex](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com/) as well to see more of her amazing art!


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